Danzig Passage

by Bodie Thoene

Untie the belt? Their one link? Mark balked. Although Jacob was in a worse position than he was now, Mark was too frightened to think of letting go. “Max!”

  “Untie the belt or you will kill us both!” Jacob whispered back angrily. “I can’t . . . hold . . . on!” Blood oozed from his fingers where the metal bracket cut into them.

  Mark gasped and reached up to fumble with the loop of leather around his wrist. His full weight pulled it tight. The fingers of his free hand could not pry the leather loose. He moaned with fear as he looked up at the exhausted face of his brother. Blood dripped from Jacob’s hand onto Mark’s cheek.

  “Come on!” Jacob cried through gritted teeth.

  “I’m trying!” Mark stood on his tiptoes on the dormer, trying to relieve the pressure and ease the weight. His arm felt as if it would break loose from its socket. His fingers dug at the leather, found the barest fraction of give, then, finally, pulled it loose.

  Suddenly free, he fell down hard against the dormer. His feet slipped to the right, and he dangled by one arm just like his brother above him.

  Mark’s throat constricted with fear, but he didn’t dare shout. With a loud thump, Jacob slid down and hit the dormer. Then, without hesitation, he scrambled to pull Mark up beside him. They were safe!

  They sat panting atop the little roof. Burning cinders blew past them, and one landed on Jacob’s coat sleeve. He did not have the strength to brush it off. Mark slapped it for him and then hung his head and closed his eyes, refusing to look over the edge where they had nearly fallen.

  Five minutes passed, then ten. Wrapping his bloody hand in a handkerchief, Jacob spoke at last. “We will break the window and swing in over the top.” His eyes were calm, his voice even.

  “Break the window?”

  Jacob mocked him. “Yes. Break the window. You think anyone will wonder about one more broken window tonight? Look out there—” He swept his injured hand toward the panorama of the city: bonfires in the streets, broken glass shimmering on the boulevards like sunlight on the water.

  Without further explanation, Jacob scooted forward until his legs dangled in front of the window. With a hard kick backward, he shattered the panes with the heel of his shoe. Then he looked back at Mark with a smile of smug satisfaction. “Well, then. It seems we have smashed the window of an Aryan-owned business.” He raised a finger. “That makes the score Jews, one; Nazis, ten thousand.” He grasped the edge of the roof and slid down through the window. “Follow me,” he called. “Mind the glass.” Jacob reached a hand up to help his brother, who was still almost too frightened to move. “Hurry up!” he coaxed impatiently from inside. “Or I’m leaving without you!”

  Mark began to cry again as he lowered himself off the little roof. Jacob clasped him hard by the legs and hefted him into the dark storage attic of the Thieste building. Then both boys collapsed onto the floor.

  9

  To Pray and to Fight

  The city of Berlin was not like Alfie remembered it. Everywhere there were people. Hitler-men were smashing shop windows and hitting other men. Women reached through the broken windows and took things out! There was shouting and screaming and Alfie could not think where he was.

  His flimsy pajamas were soaked with sweat and covered with mud. He stopped on a street corner. He could not walk any farther because of the glass that sparkled on the sidewalks.

  A group of laughing women walked toward him. Their shopping bags were full of clothes and they talked about what they had gotten, like Mama used to chatter about sales and bargains at the stores.

  “Look!” shouted a fat lady who pointed at Alfie. “I’ll bet he’s a Jew!”

  “Hey you! Are you a Jew?”

  Alfie frowned and stared back at their faces. They had the same mean look as Ugly-mouth when he called Alfie Dummkopf.

  “Are you a Jew, boy?” called another woman. “Or only sleep walking?”

  Alfie was much taller than all of them. They made a circle around him and sneered up at him. He thought about breaking through them and running, but there was the glass.

  “Answer me!” said the fat woman. “Are you a Jew? Should we call the police to arrest you?”

  “I am going to church. But the glass,” he said slowly. “I have no shoes.”

  Peals of laughter rose up. “Well, there’s a shoe store with free shoes right across the street. The Jews are having a sale! A giveaway!”

  Alfie could see the broken window of the shoe store. Men were sitting on the curb trying on shoes. Maybe if he was careful he could walk around the glass and get a pair of shoes.

  “I am not a Jew,” Alfie said earnestly. “But I need shoes. Danke.” He was polite even though they were not polite. He pushed through them and jumped from one tiny glass-free cobblestone to the next, reaching the curb where the men sat passing shoes from one to another.

  “I need shoes, too,” Alfie said. “I don’t have money.”

  “These are free, boy!” A jolly man in leather pants reached up and pulled him down to the curb. “A gift from the Jews to the German people.”

  “That is nice of them,” Alfie said. Smoke was stinging his eyes. Someone passed him a nice pair of shoes that were only a little too big, then gray woolen socks. He put them on. The shoes did not have laces, but it did not matter. With the socks they fit just fine.

  “Where are the Jews?” Alfie smiled broadly as he stood. He wanted to thank them for the gift. The shoes made him feel as if he could run fast. It had been a long time since he had new shoes.

  In answer to his question the men at the curb roared with laughter. “Where are the Jews, he says?” They did not answer Alfie and he was ashamed that he asked. They all knew the answers. Why was he so dumb?

  Shirts and trousers and coats came flying out of the broken windows along the broad Avenue. Other people were out in their pajamas, too. A big crowd of men and women wandered about with the cuffs of pajamas and nightgowns showing out the bottom of their coats. Some people dressed in the street—right on the sidewalk they pulled trousers over their nightclothes and then walked on and put on another layer.

  Alfie found trousers, too big at the waist. He picked up a heavy coat, too short in the sleeves. “Where are the Jews?” he asked. “Why are those men hurting those people there?”

  No one took the questions of this big teenage boy seriously. Everyone knew where the Jews were, after all! Alfie was the only one in Germany who wanted to thank them for the clothes.

  ***

  Explosions continued at regular intervals throughout the long night. Even as the gray Vienna dawn seeped in around the window shade, two more charges roared in quick succession to demolish the last of Vienna’s synagogues.

  Peter had fallen asleep with his head on his mother’s lap. He opened his eyes only when his baby brother cried and Marlene wandered out in her nightgown. She rubbed her eyes and then stood blinking at Peter and her mother, who were fully dressed.

  “What is going on?” She made a face at the smell of smoke. The steady drone of a truck passed on the street below. Three rapid pops of rifle fire sounded from somewhere in the distance. “Mama?” Marlene asked again. “Why are you dressed?”

  Peter sat up and eyed the rumpled form of his sister with sibling contempt. “Leave it to Marlene. The Nazis are blowing apart our world and she can only ask why we are dressed.”

  Marlene’s expression changed from sleepy confusion to fear. “Mama? What does he mean?” She stared at the window, afraid to look beyond the back-lit shade.

  Karin Wallich chose her words carefully. “A pogrom, Marlene. But we are safe here. They will not think to look for us here.” She glanced at the clock. Not yet six o’clock. The riots had been in progress only a few hours, yet it seemed like days since she had awakened Peter. “Go back to bed, Marlene,” she instructed as if the event was not at all unusual.

  Marlene walked numbly toward the window shade. Peter sprang up and blocked her. She tried to go around him, suddenly desperate to see what w
as outside. Peter grabbed her by the arms and she cried out, although he had not hurt her.

  “I want to see!” Her screeching whine set Peter’s teeth on edge.

  “Marlene!” Karin was up, wide awake and filled with fresh fear as she pushed her daughter away. “You must not . . .must not . . . go near the window until they are finished!”

  “They can smell a little Jewish girl,” Peter snarled. “You want these Aryans to catch a whiff of you and—”

  Karin turned on him now, angered by the cruelty in his voice. She raised her chin, ordering him with a look to be silent. Marlene whimpered, rubbing her arm where Peter had grabbed her.

  “He hurt me,” she sniffed. “I only wanted to—”

  “You can let her go out there as far as I’m concerned!” Peter scowled at her. Marlene could not take anything. Mother shielded her, protected her, pampered her, even though their peaceful world was irrevocably shattered.

  Peter sat down heavily on the sofa and stared at the photograph of Adolf Hitler that hung on the wall above the radio. Herr Ruger had apologized for the picture, explaining that it was only for show in case the Gestapo should ever come with their list of questions. For this same reason, Herr Ruger wore the Nazi armband and said “Heil Hitler” as naturally as he had once said “Grüss Gott.” After Peter’s father had been taken, Herr Ruger had given Peter an armband as well in case he had to travel outside his own neighborhood. He was a strange man, this Otto Ruger.

  Karin Wallich was still uncertain of Herr Ruger. He seemed to move altogether too naturally among those who now set explosive charges around the support pillars of the synagogues and doused the floors with kerosene and laughed as they lit their pipes and tossed their matches into the buildings. She did not trust his paternal interest in Peter; she deplored the swastika armband slipped into her son’s pocket. And yet, last night, she had no choice but to obey the instructions he had left with Peter.

  “If there is even a whiff of trouble in the air, you must bring your mother and sister to my apartment. It is the season for violence again. The season of martyrs.”

  Herr Ruger had proved to be right. His knowing disturbed Karin Wallich most. She had expressed her doubts to Peter, but they had come to Ruger’s apartment anyway.

  “There now, Marlene,” Karin soothed her daughter. “You are just tired. The noise awakened you. Go back to sleep and when you wake, we can go home again.”

  Peter leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes as his mother led Marlene back into the bedroom. How he longed for sleep—sleep without dreams, without warnings that played in his own mind. He really despised his little sister, yet she was now his responsibility. Father had told him it might come to this—Peter in charge of protecting Mother, Marlene, and baby. Such responsibility had come too soon. Eight months ago, before the Nazis marched into Austria, Peter would have welcomed being a man. Now, with the arrest of his father, Peter wished only for his lost childhood to return. But the scene beyond the window shade convinced him—that dream was gone forever.

  ***

  Of course Wolfgang von Fritschauer had an extra key to Lucy’s apartment. He had found the apartment for her, after all, and in the beginning he had spent as much time here as he had in his own quarters. But Lucy had not expected to see him this morning. Not after the things he had said to her last night. Somehow she had not expected to see him ever again—except perhaps to place her baby in his arms and watch him walk away.

  He stood over her bed, swaying slightly as if he had been drinking. His hat and overcoat were already off when Lucy realized that she was not dreaming.

  “Wolf?” she asked sleepily.

  He did not reply but sat down on the edge of the bed. His uniform was impeccable, but there were flecks of blood on his face. Is it his own blood? she wondered briefly.

  He began to unbutton his tunic as if he had the right. He motioned for her to move over. “I have been working all night near here. Too tired to go home.” He did not ask permission, simply pulled off his boots and lay down beside her. She did not protest when he reached out for her. After all, what did it matter now? What was done was impossible to undo. Was that hell beyond the Danube any fiercer because he had come to her as he always did, and she did not send him away?

  Only the hell of this moment mattered to her now. Somehow the nearness of Wolf made her existence seem less terrible. She was grateful that he wanted her, even if he did not love her. Now she would not wonder or hope. No expectations, he said. No commitments.

  Within her remained only despair and physical hunger for him. With her hopes and dreams for the future reduced to ashes, no illusions were left. And so she yielded to his desire just like any other woman who worked the back streets of the Seventh District.

  Later, Lucy felt awake for the first time since she had met the handsome SS officer over a year ago in Munich. She lay beside him, studying his features as he slept. Always she had interpreted his cold expression as the smile of an aristocrat, the look of a man who was better than other men. And also better than her. Now she watched his thin lips and pictured the smile again. Cruel and distant. Charming only when he had something to gain. She had feared the aloofness of his smile. She had melted in its charm. But now that she knew the truth of it, she would never again cringe beneath it or be wooed by it.

  Yes, Wolf was the picture of Aryan physical perfection. But then, so was she, wasn’t she? Wasn’t that why he had chosen her? In this way they were equals. The realization gave her confidence; she would not be afraid of his disapproval any longer.

  For the first time she wondered what his wife looked like. Maybe she would ask him, wonder out loud to him about the woman who would take her baby from her.

  Lucy’s heart felt cold and distant as she watched the sleeping form of the man she had loved so deeply. She did not hate him; she simply viewed him as he must view her. He was someone she would use, as she had been used. She would make her smile into a reflection of his smile. And her hands would no longer tremble in his presence.

  At all costs, she knew she must not go to the SS maternity home. She must somehow remain free in Vienna until she could win her freedom in another place.

  The gate of Lebensborn was locked on both sides—on the inside to keep lovers out, and on the outside to keep the women in.

  She studied Wolf’s profile in the semidarkness. This man demanded instant gratification of his desires. She must make him see that the lock on Lebensborn would deny him access to that satisfaction. She must sell herself to buy precious time.

  ***

  Early morning found the violence in Berlin undiminished. Thousands of shops to be wrecked, after all. What was sleep compared to the thrill of destroying in one night what it had taken generations to build in Germany?

  Jacob and Mark woke to the sound of a fire truck clanging wildly past the Thieste building. Fire had spread from a Jewish-owned shop to an Aryan building, and several trucks rushed to the scene.

  “Where are we?” Mark raised his head to blink in confusion at the strange surroundings. File cabinets, stacks of boxes, and unused office furniture were piled everywhere. Mark and Jacob had fallen asleep near a large wooden desk with chairs stacked on it. There was no light except for the ever-present illumination of the fires.

  “The Thieste building.” Jacob sat up slowly and crawled over to peer out the window they had come through hours before.

  “Ah.” Mark remembered; the memory brought a renewed stab of worry for their parents. “Can we go back home?” he asked miserably.

  Jacob did not reply. He simply stared down at the wreckage beneath them. The street had not yet been touched when the boys had slid in to the attic. Now it was smashed as if a bomb had exploded. People walked through it, picking over the merchandise that had been thrown into the street. On the corner, men with guns surrounded a group of two hundred Jewish men. A truck was waiting to carry them away. Away to where?

  Jacob scanned the tiny figures for some sign of his
father and Pastor Karl. Were they down there? And what had happened to Mother?

  “We’re going to New Church. Father told us to go there; if Mother is free, she will look for us at New Church.”

  The thought of seeing his mother renewed Mark’s energy. He jumped to his feet and picked his way through the cluttered attic to the stairs. He reached for the light switch, but Jacob stopped him.

  “The building may have a watchman,” Jacob warned.

  “He will be out stealing with the rest of them,” Mark said, but they made their way through the office building without light all the same.

  In the lobby, a single lamp burned at the vacant desk of the night watchman. Jacob nudged Mark hard, and they ducked behind the banister at the foot of the stairs.

  He jerked his thumb toward the glass doors leading from the building. Outside, the watchman leaned against a pillar and smoked a pipe as he placidly watched the looting of a shoe store across the street.

  “How will we get out?” Mark asked.

  In reply, Jacob took his hand and simply walked across the lobby and through the doors. The watchman did not see where they had come from, but he turned and raised his pipe in acknowledgment. His eyes swept over the two boys in amusement.

  “Guten Morgen,” he greeted them. “It looks as though you two have been in the thick of the fray.” His glance lingered on the blood-soaked handkerchief wrapped around Jacob’s hand.

  Jacob nodded curtly and raised the hand with an air of nonchalance. “Plenty of glass broken last night. I got careless.” He kept walking, pulling wide-eyed Mark after him.

  “A battle scar.” The old watchman laughed. “You can tell your grandchildren you got it the night we taught the Jews in Germany a lesson, eh?”

  Jacob managed a laugh and stepped off the curb to hurry away through the ruins toward New Church. This time Mark did not cry. Terror and exhaustion had left him numb, and he followed Jacob like a sleepwalker.

  The entire city crawled with looters. No one attempted to stop the thieves. In the frantic scramble of Aryan citizens to snatch useful items from the bonfires, no one paid any attention to two soot-covered boys walking briskly toward New Church.